Little Green Men
by raelifin
Summary: Three money-obsessed aliens crash-land in Roswell in 1947. A psychologist is brought in to better understand how they think, but will he be able to ease the tension of first-contact?
Author's note: This is a rational fic of the DS9 episode of the same name. If you're not familiar with Star Trek, it'll probably still be readable. If you're not familiar with rational fiction, check out RationalFic on TV Tropes and be warned that I've changed quite a bit of the Star Trek universe. If you're not interested in thinking about money, this story will probably be boring.

If you enjoy this story, you may also enjoy my book. It's free to read at crystal(dawt)raelifin(dawt)com

Special thanks to Marie La, Louis Wasserman, Andrew Rettek, Malcolm Ocean, Eneasz Brodski, and Ruby Bloom for supporting me.

Very special thanks to Linda Goldstein and Brienne Yudkowsky for making this happen.

* * *

 **1**

"Little Green Men? I hope you realize I had to clear time with the university to come out here. The drive wasn't much fun either. If this is some kind of prank, I think you'll find it in poor taste."

John Peters took a long drag on his cigar. In truth, he didn't mind being brought out to the middle of the desert. It was unbearably hot, but it'd be just as hot in Albuquerque, and having his services requested by the army looked good for the department. He didn't want Carlson to know that, however; it was better to put the man on the back-foot to increase his leverage.

"It's no prank," Professor Carlson raised his hands to soothe John's concerns, "though they're pink like us, not green."

John brushed his beard in consideration. "I don't suppose they're good Christians, too. You sure they're from Mars?"

"That's what they said."

John smiled, took his cigar and tapped the ashes out, shaking his head. "You really ought to try better, sir. They speak English? Do you really expect me to believe that the men you have captive are Martian? You know what you have?"

Professor Carlson shook his head, frowning.

"You have a room full of flimflammers. Swindlers. Con artists. And that's at best. I wouldn't exclude the possibility that these so-called Martians are spies from the red _part_ of the planet, instead of the red planet, if you catch my drift. Fancy costumes? Strange aircraft? It all fits."

John, in his professional opinion, evaluated Carlson to be a good man, patient and reasonably bright. He could tell, however, that Carlson's patience was wearing down. "Do you really think we wouldn't be able to tell..." Carlson sighed. "Look, it'll be apparent soon enough. President Truman is in the loop. If you expose them as fakes, that's fine. Roswell can go down in history as the site of a great big hoax. But it's my job to debrief you with what we've learned so far, so I suggest you listen."

John did his best to look humble as he nodded and said "Fine, sir, go on then."

"The army didn't expect that we'd be able to talk with them so soon. That's why they brought me in, at first, and not you. When the Martians woke up they didn't speak a word of English. I listened to the records. They've got a dreadful sort of language. Lots of screeching and croaking. Hard on the ears. Even given my expertise I can't make heads nor tails of any of it." Carlson took a cigarette out of his pocket so he could smoke with John as they talked. "I went in to talk to them-"

"You went into a room with one?"

Carlson seemed a bit annoyed by the question. "Sure I did. I'm no coward. Why wouldn't I?"

John backed up. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean anything by it. My guess is you haven't read _The War of the Worlds_ by one H.G. Wells." Carlson's shake of the head confirmed his suspicion. "Alien pathogens. Disease, my good man. Happens whenever two civilizations meet for the first time. Or at least, it's happened whenever humans make contact. I'll trust this time you lucked out."

Carlson frowned and continued. "Anyway, I went in to talk to them, and it wasn't long after I started trying to establish a shared language to talk about common objects in the room like chairs that something clicked for them and they started speaking English like they'd been born with it. Not even an accent. Or at least, none for most words."

John thought it best to indulge the man further. If this was really why he'd been brought to the middle of the desert he might as well play along. "Are they peaceful? Assuming what you say is true, they may be scouts for an invasion force."

"They claim to be merchants. And not just claim, I suppose. They've been offering to buy and sell plenty. The army brass has the same concern as you, however. That's why you're here. If anyone can smell a liar it should be a psychologist, right?"

John nodded confidently. "I think I've heard enough. I'll pick the rest up as I go."

Carlson shrugged and put out his cigarette, still mostly unsmoked. It was a wasteful thing to do, thought John, and perhaps spoke of being spoiled as a child. "Not sure that's wise, but who am I to argue... Would you like to start with Quark? He seems to be the leader of the trio."

John smiled and stood up, feeling the perspiration under his arms. He had enough common sense to keep his cigar going. It had plenty of life left.

"Lead the way."

 **2**

As John Peters entered the little interrogation room he immediately understood how foolish he'd been. The Martian named "Quark" was so obviously alien that there wasn't a person alive that would mistake him for an actor in a suit, at least up-close. It had all been real, and John immediately wished he'd spent more time preparing.

The creature had a roughly human shape, with two arms, two legs, a head, and so forth, with the addition of a long, thin tail. Carlson had been wrong about their skin, however. They weren't "pink" as much as gray-orange. Quark stood about a foot shorter than John, and had a kind of naturally hunched appearance that made it seem even smaller.

It wore clothing vaguely similar to what a businessman might wear in style, covering the arms and legs, with a joint in the cloth near where its tail protruded and a bit of a flourish around the neck. The colors were far more garish, however, consisting of vivid reds and yellows, with sharp cyan highlights. It almost seemed like the clothes of a clown, except that John noted many intricate golden and silver trinkets sown into the fabric displaying brilliant craftsmanship. Behind the alien's head was affixed a piece of cloth somewhat similar to a headband, displaying intricate symbols woven in black, silver, and gold threads.

The Martian wore no shoes, and had three long toes on each foot, flanked on either side by a thumb-like digit that reminded John of a monkey. In fact, he would've said Quark looked more like a perfectly hairless monkey than a human if it weren't that the Martian was clearly not from this world. A good example of the alienness of the creature was that while its head and much of its body was orange, the thing's toes became increasingly gray-blue towards the ends until they terminated in sharp blue claws with an iridescent shine.

Quark's hands had a similar shape to its feet, with a trio of long, blue claws symmetrically opposed by two greyish thumbs. Despite the alien's diminutive stature, John would not have wanted to fight it unarmed.

But it was the alien's head and face that set it so dramatically apart from humanity. Quark's lumpy head was dominated by two lobe-structures that looked a bit like a cross between ears and the hood of a cobra. Within the lobes were a series of open chambers that flanked its face. And what a face it was... The Martian's eyes were disproportionately large and dark, sunken into deep pits under heavy brows that amplified their already significant presence. If the large eyes made it seem somewhat baby-like, its mouth completely offset that. The Martian had no nose, but instead a series of fleshy ridges that extended out into a short snout with a large, powerful jaw. Inside the mouth were four knife-like teeth surrounded by two rows of triangular teeth, as though the most terrifying features of a tiger and a shark had been brought together.

The suddenness of encountering such a... predatory creature made John leap back in surprise when he entered the room, but if the Martian took offense, it gave no sign. It simply got off of the chair that it had been squatting on and waddled its way towards him, tail waving stiffly behind it as it came.

Those deep, dark eyes watched him all the while. He felt hunted just by being in its presence.

And then Quark stopped, about three feet away, and stuck out its right arm, palm to the side, up towards John's face. The iridescent claws of the little alien were decidedly less sharp than they appeared at a distance, but they still seemed dangerous.

John stared at the creature, wanting to look back at Professor Carlson, who stood on the other side of the doorway, but being unable to take his eyes off the alien.

"Hello. Do you wish to shake hands?"

John could barely believe his ears. Despite what Carlson had said, it still seemed surreal to hear the creature talking like a man. It didn't even seem to have the lips or mouth shape necessary to make those sounds.

He remembered himself, with a start, gingerly taking the Martian's hand and shaking it gently. It wasn't a deliberate choice, but was instead done out of a sense of obligation. The Martian's hand was rough and cold, and reminded John of the snakes he caught as a child.

With the gesture complete, Quark removed its hand and waddled back over to the chair and climbed onto it, squatting again rather than sitting like a human. Perhaps sitting was uncomfortable for beings with tails.

"You shake hands?" asked John, surprising himself with the words. As he took another step into the room, someone closed the door behind him. They'd be listening, he knew, but a part of him still feared being around this animal-thing.

"It smooths the transaction," answered Quark in a decidedly masculine, though not particularly deep, voice.

In the room was a single table and two chairs. Light from the hot New Mexico day drifted in through a small window at the top of the far wall, but the chamber was pleasantly cool, all things considered, probably because the room was technically on the basement level. John took the chair opposite Quark, and drew a puff from his cigar to calm his nerves.

"What transaction?" he asked, still trying to get a hold of himself.

Quark's face was too alien to be read, but he did a strange sort of half-yawn as he said "I am selling information, and also buying it, if you are willing. The other hewmons did not seem interested in selling." The alien's pronunciation was impeccable except for the word "humans" which distinctly felt like it was being said for the first time by a foreigner.

John mulled this over for a bit, becoming more confident as he did. Whatever strangeness this Martian had, it at least had the courtesy not to fast-talk him.

"My... fellow humans told me that you're a merchant. Do you usually sell information?"

The sound of laughter came from the toothy maw of the Martian. It was distinctly human in sound, but when paired with a body that didn't smile or move in any human way...

"I forgot again that you do not know Ferengi. I am too used to hewmons who..." Quark paused. "...who are familiar with our ways."

"Your ways? What is 'Ferengi'?" Now that it was clear to John that the little Martian wasn't immediately dangerous, a million questions seemed to come to him, but he held most of them in check.

"I am Ferengi. I will sell you information about our ways and our people for... five kilograms of pure gold."

John tried to keep from reacting to the price. Clearly Quark wasn't about to engage with him in good faith. He tried to remember how much a kilogram was. All he could remember was that it was a thousand grams. The image of five thousand gold-coins came to mind. It seemed a king's ransom.

John tried to brush past it. "You implied earlier that you have experience with humans who know you."

Quark didn't react, but instead sat patiently, as though waiting for something.

John was forced to continue. "Does that mean there are other people who you've talked to? Other nations?"

Quark placed one skinny hand face down on the table. "I will sell you limited information about our previous experience with hewmons for one kilogram of gold."

John took his cigar out of his mouth and scowled. "Now look here. I don't know what makes you think I have piles of gold lying around, but I don't. I'd like to just have a simple conversation as though we were friends. Can we do that? I'd like to be friends."

More strange laughter erupted from the Martian (or "Ferengi"). A blue claw moved slowly to scratch the lumpy top of its head. "You hewmons are all alike. You trap and exploit one another and call it good. I seek a smooth transaction. I seek a good reputation. Insulting me with requests to enter into your awful hewmon systems disrupts the transaction."

John thought about this for a moment. Regardless of whether any of it made sense, he didn't want to end up starting the first inter-planetary war. Earth had seen far too much war already.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I simply want to talk, and don't have any gold."

"What do you have to offer, then? The Fifth Rule is to trade according to specialty."

Quark's words surprised John. As silly as it was, it was the first time he realized that Quark actually wanted the gold because he wanted the _gold_. Before, John had somehow been assuming that Quark was trying to mess with him and assert dominance.

"I don't have much of value-"

Quark immediately cut John off. "Rule of Acquisition Number One: value is ALWAYS personal and unique! Look, hewmon, you clearly do not understand trade, so I will give you information purely to smooth the transaction. Think of it..." The Martian gave a gurgling kind of snarl that made John tense up. "Think of it as a gesture of friendship."

The sudden irritation of the alien caught John off-guard, and the sense that he couldn't predict when Quark would snap made him deeply uncomfortable. He looked at the steel door to the room. They'd bail him out if he decided to leave, but... no. Having difficult conversations was his job. Even if he was out of his element, John Peters wasn't about to tap out. "I... appreciate your... gift," he said, carefully.

Quark snarled again, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was a remarkably human thing to do. John felt confident that Quark was trying to calm himself. "Hewmon, please attend my words when I say that all of civilization depends on trade. It is the lifeblood of intelligent beings. It is the most holy act. It preserves us and sustains us even in the face of violence, hunger, and all other evils. It is eternal and universal, even for cultures corrupted by ugly things like friendship."

John thought about saying that it sounded like Quark worshiped the free market as a god, but decided against it.

Quark continued to lecture. "At the heart of all transactions are three things: I must value what you have, you must value what I have, and we must exchange our goods voluntarily. A structure with only two legs falls. All three legs must be present for it to stand. Do you understand my metaphor? I am not sure how well my translator has adapted to your dialect of hewmon language."

John nodded. He was curious about this "translator", but he didn't trust himself to say something unoffensive, or steer the conversation back into demands for gold.

"Good. In Ferengi language we have words for these three things. I feel the closest words in your language are 'greed', 'wealth', and 'freedom'. You must be greedy. You must want the things I own. You must be wealthy. You must own things which I want. We must both be free. We must be able to refuse the transaction without being hurt. This concludes the Second Rule of Acquisition."

"How many of these rules are there?"

"Holy-number two hundred eighty five: a sacred pentagon for each city of old. But smoothing the transaction only demands I recite a few more. I must charge you twenty kilograms of gold for a complete lesson."

John nodded again. Ever more questions came to him, but at least they were making progress.

"In addition to the rules are the deductions. There are too many deductions to count, but I will explain a couple from the first two rules that will smooth the transaction. The first deduction is that being wealthy is not the same as owning valuable things. The first rule states that my value is not your value. You can be wealthy, yet not value any of the things you have, and you can value all your possessions, yet not be wealthy. I am reminded of the story my mother told me about the happy wanderer who had so much value without any wealth, but you are not a child and I will not treat you like one. You should be able to see your error now. When you said you 'don't have much of value' you were trying to deny your wealth by talking about value. But you cannot deny your wealth! You cannot see inside my mind! Only I can deny your wealth!"

Quark was quite animated, and was gesturing with his arms as he spoke. John couldn't help but notice that though he was small, and his arms were covered, there was a sense of muscle about the little Martian.

John held up his hands in an effort to placate Quark. "I think I am beginning to understand, but I would like to ask a question. May I?"

Quark bent and tapped his face onto the table. "Sometimes I wonder why I didn't stay on Ferenginar. Have you actually been listening to me, hewmon? Trade is the most central good. Trade requires freedom. You are free. Ask your real question and do not insult me with paradoxes."

"You said that it was possible to be wealthy, but not have anything of value. How is this possible?"

Quark snarled and slapped his head. "Stupid translator! There is a way you want to see things. This is value. There is what you have available. This is _power_. A person who is wealthy is naturally powerful, but just because one is powerful does not mean that one is satisfied with how things are. Does this make more sense to you?"

John frowned. "So you mean that 'value' is about ends, not means. The power that comes from my wealth allows me to get things of value, but it itself is not valuable."

Quark emitted a subdued laugh from his fanged mouth and said "Unless having power is a thing you value in itself! Most of my people have this value. In my experience with hewmons it is more rare, but still present. But now we are talking like economists in their high tower instead of common merchants. I value staying focused on here and now."

John had a sense that Quark was wrong. Being wealthy _was_ the same as having lots of valuable things, and that the alien was misusing the language, but if he had to extend his definition of English to have a conversation with a being from another world, it was a small price to pay.

"The Third Rule of Acquisition is that you must never accept a trade that you expect to hurt. The rules, as they should be, are logical consequences of the universe. They are inviolable laws, but they are also guides. The Third Rule is a good example of this. It is possible to prove that it is true in all cases, but it is also evident in practice that using it as a guide helps everyone. Do you understand, hewmon, or has that Vulcan propaganda infected even you?"

John didn't understand that last bit, but he cleared his throat and tried his best to make Quark feel at ease. "Never do a bad trade? Seems like a simple guide, to me."

Quark gave a croaking-chirp that sounded something like a parrot imitating a bullfrog. John tensed up, ready for anything, but Quark's words seemed pleased. "Yes! Good! So few hewmons grasp the Third Rule. As I said, I blame the Vulcans. The idea that there are winners and losers in a transaction? Heresy!"

An uncomfortable thought came to John. He didn't want to upset Quark, but he also wanted to keep Quark talking. The more he learned about these Martians, the better off the United States would be. After weighing the options he went with the gamble.

"While I generally agree with you—and believe me, I am as much a fan of making money as anybody—I know someone who maybe counts as an exception." John gave Quark the opportunity to interrupt him, but the monkey-cat-snake-person sat quietly and patiently, so he continued. "A friend of mine has a cousin that's a con-man. He takes jewelry and pretends like it's solid gold, when actually it just has gold-plating on the outside. By my estimation his customers are getting ripped-off. Aren't they losing?"

Quark, upon hearing the question, immediately jumped in with a response. "Rule of Acquisition Ninety Nine: Reputation is like water. These customers aren't disobeying the Third Rule; they're disobeying the Ninety Nineth Rule. If I understand you right, they still expect to profit from the transaction. The Third Rule is not about actual profit, but rather about expectation. We've all been stung by purchase regret before, but the principal deduction of the Third Rule is 'if you regret your purchase, that is your failure alone'."

"I must not understand something. How is reputation like water?"

"It is true that the Ninety Nineth Rule is one of the least-universal rules among cultures." Quark removed his headband and placed it on the table. "Do you see this? Among Ferengi this is the most important piece of clothing." His blue claws moved along the runes of the band carefully, tracing them.

"Our planet, or rather, the part where we come from, is very wet. It rains almost all the time. My body was modified to match this hewmon environment, but on Ferenginar I would have my natural slime. It feels... awkward not having it now. But that's not the point. The point is that the rain changes everything. It makes it hard to see, hard to hear, and there are other senses like tenekisiip and smell that we don't even have, because they're so useless there. I have heard this is why things are the way they are, but for whatever reason, we Ferengi cannot naturally tell each other apart, when naked."

Quark put the headband back on and laughed his weird too-human laugh. "That is why we wear the headband, you see? It is a declaration of who we are. This is my identity. 'Quark'."

It was strange to hear the Ferengi say his own name. Professor Carlson had said it so calmly, but Quark seemed to crow it, again sounding like a parrot-frog. Was that what they naturally sounded like without the translation?

Quark continued to explain. "But you see, if I were to go to my brother and steal his headband, well... this wouldn't work if you're using modern genome-scanning tricorders, but let's assume you don't know what that is... In that case I could steal his headband and pretend to be him. If you owe him money, I could come to collect it. There are lots of stories in my culture about just this thing happening. Someone comes to trust someone else, and then a clever entrepreneur finds a way to exploit this trust by using a disguise."

Quark sighed and concluded his monologue by saying "This is why reputation is like water. You see a raindrop in front of you and you think 'I will remember this raindrop and keep it safe'. But this is a foolish task. The water gets mixed up. It slips through fingers. It evaporates. It gets absorbed. And yet, water is life. Without water civilization would fall. Reputation systems are one of the greatest technologies of civilization, second only to money, perhaps. The lesson of the Nintey Nineth rule is that one should never forget how fragile they ultimately are. The best purchase is of a thing of self-evident value. The moment you treat reputation as solid is the moment your water becomes mixed up with your slime."

John struggled to visualize the Martian covered in slime, so he refocused on the conversation. It was clear that Quark liked talking about the rules, and he hoped that by pushing him he could get even more information without having to pay gold. "I think I see, but the Third Rule still puzzles me. What if a man sees a gold-plated watch and buys it, even knowing that it's not solid-gold? Isn't he losing out? Or to put another way: what if someone owns all the telephone lines in the world, and so they're able to charge more than their fair price? Isn't the buyer still getting scammed?"

"I tire of this tutoring, hewmon. If we don't start actually trading soon I must insist that I talk with a hewmon who will trade with me. But I will answer this one last question for the sake of smoothness."

Quark threaded his claws together and leaned his elbows on the desk, placing his snout up against his hands. "It seems to me like you're still confusing value and wealth. Let's imagine a man with a boat who sells passage across a river. Someone comes along and pays for the journey. The boat-man is now unquestionably more wealthy, and the traveler is unquestionably less wealthy. But both have more value. The world is closer to how they want it to be. I don't know what a telephone line is, but in your example with gold-plated things, perhaps the buyer has a pressing desire for something beautiful, or perhaps he is simply a fool who does not understand the market price of the item. In either case, he still expects to win by making the transaction. There has never been a true transaction in the history of the universe that both parties did not expect to benefit from. This is a natural consequence of the element of freedom."

With Quark's explanation complete, a silence descended upon the two of them. John had a million questions, but didn't want to push Quark, who seemed annoyed at having to answer them. Despite all he'd learned about the alien from Mars (or as Quark called it: "Ferenginar"), John still couldn't read the creature's face. Since he had no nose, Quark breathed entirely through his mouth. In the slow silence, punctuated only by those breaths, it seemed like the face of a hungry animal.

"What now?" he asked, at last.

"Now we trade. I am still seeking to buy information, if you are selling. You said you don't have gold. Does this mean the gold which I have is worthless to you? I know your kind doesn't use latinum, but the hewmon I talked to first said that you did, at least, use gold as money."

John smiled the smile that he had practiced over the many long years and tapped the ash from his cigar on the side of the table. It was the damned army's fault for not providing an ash-tray. "Carlson told you right. We do value gold. We trade with dollars, around here, but it wasn't too long ago that people used gold all the time."

"What are dollars? I've never heard of them."

John took out his wallet and put a one-dollar bill on the table. "This is a dollar. It's something like a promise of gold. Or at least, it used to be. They're a promise of silver, nowadays."

Quark picked up the bill and carefully scanned it. "Interesting patterns. It could plausibly be a primitive kind of promise-money. You said it can be exchanged for silver? Which bank does it come from? How wide is its market?"

"It's from the United States government. That's where we are right now: the US. I don't exactly know what you mean about the market. It's just money. You can buy things with it wherever."

Quark laughed. "Governments! Such a clever thing. It is a pity that Ferengi are too smart and virtuous to be enslaved like you primitives. I would have loved to be the nagus that first got in on that scheme."

John took the dollar back when Quark returned it too him. "What did you mean about governments? The US doesn't have any slaves."

"Hewmon, I tire of this. I gave you information before to ease the transaction, but I am not interested in cheap promises of cheap metals from evil governments. You have done nothing but demonstrate your poverty to me. I will give you no more information without just compensation. Find me someone rich and I will talk to them."

"Now hold on here, Quark. I may not have _gold_ , but that doesn't mean I'm poor."

"Then demonstrate your wealth. Are you hiding rare spices or chemicals in your clothing? Are you skilled at sexual services? Do you have a database available? I will give you a kilogram of gold in exchange for a database containing information on common Earth things."

John kept his calm, even when asked about his sexual skill. There was bound to be some friction when working with any other culture, he reminded himself. "What do you mean by 'database'? Do you mean like a library?"

"My translator is having trouble again. A library contains information in the form of..."

"Books?"

"Yes, books! I would like to purchase a book containing all common knowledge that hewmons possess."

John tapped out his cigar again and took another puff. "You want an encyclopedia. There's bound to be one on the base. Where would you get the gold?"

Quark casually reached into his clothing and drew out a bar of gold about an inch thick and as big as his face. "Now, this is gold-pressed latinum, so it's way more than I'm offering, but let me put it in the replicator for a bit and I'll extract the gold you want."

The mass of gold shimmered under the light. If John was unsure about the Martian's strength before, it was more than apparent from the way he casually waved the bar around.

"Look, I'm not authorized to make deals here, but I'll talk to the higher-ups and see if we can arrange something. It's clear that you're looking for information, just as we are, and a trade would benefit everyone."

Quark chirped. "Now you're starting to think like a Ferengi. Drop your foolish insistence on being a slave to your 'government' and you might just make a profit!"

 **3**

"You are 'Rom', yes?"

"That's what it says up here!" said the Martian as he reached up and pointed at his headband. The creature's voice sounded exactly like Quark's had, and despite wearing slightly less-garish clothing (with fewer trinkets) he looked exactly like Quark. He had the same lumpy head, same orange-ish skin, and the same short, hunched posture. Even Rom's face seemed identical. The idea that the Martians couldn't tell each other apart seemed very plausible.

In fact, a part of John was suspicious that "Rom" was, in fact, just Quark playing some kind of trick on him. The creature squatted on his chair just like he'd seen Quark do.

But General Denning was talking with Quark right now. If this was some kind of trick, the army had to be in on it, and John didn't have the mental energy to engage that particular kind of paranoia at the moment.

He'd briefed the general about Quark's personality, and his professional appraisal of his state of mind just before sitting down with Rom. He'd tried to explain how the alien thought, and what to focus on. Above all he tried to make it clear to the general not to try and engage Quark in any way besides trading.

He could only hope that things were going smoothly.

"I just got done talking with your brother, Quark. You are brothers, right? That's what I was told."

Rom laughed. It was, just as it had been for Quark, a natural human laugh without any body language. Distinctly creepy. "Yes, yes! We shared a mother. 'Quark and Rom', just like the brothers of the Second Reformation. It is too bad there wasn't a 'Gelg' after me to complete the trio. Wouldn't that be nice? Perhaps Moogie will be bought by someone wealthy enough to regenerate her... Wouldn't that be nice? I just love babies."

If this was Quark, he was putting on quite the show.

John stroked his beard, idly, wishing that he had another cigar. "You're talking about many things that I don't know about. Can you explain some of them? For instance: tell me about the Second Reformation."

Rom gave a weird croak and rubbed his claws together. "I am glad Quark isn't here. He would have yelled at me for forgetting my rules. Rule of Acquisition Fifty Nine: Never give away what you could just as easily sell! I will... sell you what I know about the Second Reformation for... let's hear the price... hear the price... two slips! No! Wait! Remember Rule Four! I will sell it for ten slips!"

John swore under his breath. He'd been hoping the insistence on trading for information had been a thing specific to Quark.

A thought came to him, then, and John Peters had to force himself not to smile.

"Listen, Rom, I'm a primitive human. My kind isn't so good at trading. I want to improve, but I'll need special help in smoothing the transaction."

Rom screeched and scratched at the table with his claws. The suddenness of the act made John flinch backwards, putting his hands on his arm-rests, ready to spring out of his seat. But the monkey-like alien did not seem upset. Quite the contrary, in fact. "You are like a boy! Did you know that I have a boy? I love children. Okay! I will help smooth this transaction! Show me what you have and I will guide you. How good are you at calculus?"

John settled back into the chair, carefully shaping his face and body language. "I'm glad you're able to help me, but I'm afraid I don't really know much mathematics."

Rom rocked side-to-side for a moment, not saying anything.

"Is my translator broken? I heard you say you don't know math."

"No, no. I have the basics. I just don't think I could do any calculus."

Rom rocked some more. "Well, you _should_ go back to your mother and learn calculus, but I will see what I can do without it. Show me your possessions."

"Most of my possessions are at my house back in Albuquerque, but-"

Rom tapped his claws loudly on the table. "No no! I asked about possessions, not treasures. I know you are like a baby, so I'll explain. A possession is something you have. For example, I possess my headband. A treasure is a thing you could go and get without violence or trade. I could get tools if I was on Deep Space Nine, but since I am not there, so they are treasures, not possessions."

"Why distinguish between such things?"

Rom laughed. "Why distinguish between an optronic coupler and a phase decompiler? Because they're different things! You can trade possessions. You can't trade treasures."

"Why can't you trade treasures?"

Rom laughed again. "I like you. You're so ignorant. Buying treasures is buying water. If you are buying treasures, I have a great deal for you on a D'Kora-class Marauder parked in the Gamma Quadrant." Rom's continued, inhuman laughter cemented that this was a joke.

"Okay, fine, fine." John began to empty his pockets and lay everything he could think of on the table. He had his cigar case, with two cigars left, his wallet with sixty two dollars, fifty nine cents in change, his checkbook, his notebook, a pencil, a pen, his keys, his knife, his watch, his guest badge for the base, and his letter of invitation from Professor Carlson.

Rom leaned forward, placing both hands on the table to support him as he peered at the items. One long claw extended towards the coins. "These are your money? Nothing smooths the transaction quite like money."

John was prepared for this. "Yes, they are a kind of money. Mostly, however, we use these." He took the bills out of his wallet and laid them out. "These are dollars. With them I can buy gold or food or whatever I want."

"You use paper over metal? Who values paper?"

"I'm glad you asked that. You understand that you're in a military base, right?"

"Yes. Part of some primitive hewmon army. Nog, my son, told me about such things."

"Good. Well, the men on this base work for a great power that values these dollars. The great power demands that we give it dollars every year. Do you see?" He was intentionally trying to dance around the concept of governments. From what Quark had said he got the impression that the aliens weren't as disposed to civilized democracy as he would've expected.

Rom pulled back away from the items, satisfied with having taken inventory. "I understand that they are money. I do not understand why this great power wants paper, but perhaps I should just trust in the First Rule. I see you have six dollars, but they have numbers. Do the numbers mark their relative worth? I count sixty-two units."

"Yes! Good. I'm sorry I wasn't more clear. The units are dollars. These are each called 'bills'."

"And how much gold pressed latinum does a dollar buy?"

"I don't know what latinum is, but I'm guessing that an ounce of gold is about fifty dollars."

Rom laughed loudly and stared at John with the same hungry-animal face. After a moment he stopped. "Oh. You are not making a hewmon joke. This is... surprisingly poor. I did not realize the depths of your poverty."

John couldn't help but be annoyed. It was the second time in an hour that he'd been called poor. "Most of my money is in a bank, thank you very much! I have hundreds of dollars saved there, and my house is worth thousands on top of that!"

"My translator says you are upset, hewmon. I did not mean to insult you. I understand you have treasures worth approximately one bar of gold. This is surely very wealthy among your people. I was simply surprised. My culture is much more wealthy."

"Ah," was all John could say. Perhaps he should have lied, and tried to convince Rom that the dollars were worth more in gold. "Does that mean you don't want to trade?"

"Of course not!" exclaimed Rom. "Rule of Acquisition Number Two: Greed is the foundation of trade! I am greedy!"

John had a moment of genius.

The word "greedy" stood out in his mind. These aliens might speak English, but they didn't have a grasp on how to talk to people. He did. The opportunity was there.

"Rom, I think I know a trade we can do. I have information about how your translator is failing. If I tell you what's wrong, can you make it better?"

"Yes, yes! The translator adapts dynamically based on such things. Do you have datapads to use to smooth the transaction? I left mine in the shuttle."

"I don't know what a 'datapad' is," admitted John, "but I have a notepad right here." He pointed to where it sat on the table. "Why do you need a datapad?"

"You are like a boy who has never traded," said Rom. "Rule of Acquisition Number Forty Four: The opening price for a transaction is an anchor that you must attend to. It goes with Rule Four. Do you know Rule Four?"

John shook his head.

"Rule of Acquisition Number Four: Exploit each trade to the fullest value. Together they describe the value of making the first offer. If I am buying your information, I want to ask for an exceedingly low price to anchor the transaction to that number. You may be able to drag it back up, but your mind will struggle to move away from the anchor."

"So if you're haggling and you're buying, you lowball, and if you're selling you highball."

"My translator doesn't know those words so well, but that sounds correct. The problem with this is that it's inefficient and uncivilized. Can you imagine being in a market full of goods where the buyer is constantly dealing with too-high prices being shouted at him, and must work to drag prices down all the time? This is why we use datapads."

Rom gestured at the notepad, apparently asking for it.

John had an idea. "What will you give me for the notepad?"

Rom snarled. "Hewmon boy, I am smoothing the transaction! Do you wish me to cease my assistance and treat you like an adult?"

John could feel his face growing hot. Being explicitly called a child was more than a little insulting. He took a deep breath. "I was trying to imitate your culture, but I see that I failed to do so. Please continue to smooth things."

Rom laughed. "You did not fail so badly. I know of many Ferengi who would do the same. My brother always says I am stupid in the way I work to make transactions extra smooth. Perhaps I am being stupid right now. Still, we continue. Give me the nodepad and a writing tool."

John passed the paper and pencil to him.

"Very good. Now, I know you don't know calculus, but I will try to explain." Rom's claws moved over the paper and pencil awkwardly. He clearly didn't have much experience with such objects.

"First, you must get a sense of the object of trade. In this case the object is your opinion about how my translator could be improved. Normally you'd want to highlight just how much I value what you're selling, but that's hard when selling information, so let's move on. Next, you need to determine what currency you're thinking in."

"Don't you mean what currency you're trading?"

"Rule of Acquisition Number Seven: Latinum is in the hand, but money, the object of transactions, is in the mind; always trade with money, even if you have none."

"I'm confused."

"You see these papers and coins?" Rom gestured to the money he had placed on the table. "These are not actually money. These are the _representations_ of money. If you sent these objects to another civilization, they would cease to represent money, and would simply become objects. Money is in the mind. It is the mental unit of liquid wealth."

"Not value?"

"Not value! The unit of value is-" Rom screeched, suddenly, then paused. "That wasn't translated, was it? Does your language not have a word for the unit of value?"

"I think it's just 'money'."

"No no no. That's sloppy thinking. Wealth and value are different. Rule of Acquisition Number One: My"—screech—"is unique in all the universe. Ah yes, apparently you don't even have a word for this thing. Such a primitive culture."

John glanced at his watch. This seemed more like a job for Professor Carlson than for him.

"Alright, let's just call it a 'valunit'. I can compare things that I like or dislike by their valunits. But value is not wealth. Two people will always disagree about the value of a warm meal, but they should agree to the worth of a warm meal in a given market if they have enough information."

Rom drew a pair of perpendicular lines on the pad, and added a curve. "Money and valunits have a simple relationship. Due to diminishing returns in the market, the expected value of money is approximately logarithmic. The slope of the logarithm depends on the person and the market. The better the market is at serving someone, the more linear the curve will be. We typically standardize valunits by anchoring this curve at zero-zero and one-one. This may be why you think valunits are money, because it is typical to measure valunits in anchor-units. For instance, I can measure the value of your information in anchor-dollars."

John's head was beginning to hurt.

"To evaluate the benefit of a trade, you should always be thinking about money, however, not valunits. This keeps your mind on the market. That's the primary derivative of Rule Seven, by the way: Always keep your mind on the market. After picking a unit to think in, you should evaluate the standard price for the object according to whatever the natural market is."

John raised his hands. "Please, stop, stop. I can't do this. I'm a doctor of psychology, not of economics. I understand that such things must be easier for your minds, but humans just don't have the capacity for numbers needed for what you're talking about." Rom snarled, and John jumped in, trying to sooth the beast-man. "Surely there is an easier way to do things? A story or procedure that doesn't force me to calculate sums in my head."

Rom was silent for a moment, and stared at John. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"Look, hewmon, it's not really so hard. It really only requires you visualizing three to six things for any transaction: In the words of the great Nagus Moglick: 'To trade well, you must know yourself, you must know your partner, and you must know the market.' If you can just give me a few numbers, the algorithm will manage everything else."

 **4**

"The algorithm?"

"Yes. The process. You see, in a trade between equals, like we find ourselves in, there is an optimal strategy for haggling. If we assume that we're only allowed to speak at the same time, then we'll both propose prices, and those prices will converge. If the other party isn't closing the gap fast enough, you reject the transaction. At the point where the value to be gained from continuing to haggle is less than the value of the time spent haggling you accept the transaction."

John nodded. "We do haggling on Earth, sometimes. Usually not for small things, but I remember doing something like that when buying my car."

"Good. Good. So you already understand the principle. Some people study how to haggle in the way that satisfies The Fourth Rule, but I, and most of my people, just let the algorithm do the haggling. That way we can focus on more productive things."

"So what numbers do I have to provide?"

"Since you're the seller, you must give six numbers: two for yourself, two for me, and two for the market.

"First, visualize giving the object away, in this case it's the information about my translator, and getting nothing in return. This should feel bad. Now imagine yourself getting slightly more wealthy and slightly more wealthy, but be careful to imagine the new wealth alongside all your old wealth, or you will be irrationally attached to the gain. Continue to grow this amount until you feel clearly good about the exchange. Be very careful about selling for below this number, as it's important to respect the Third Rule of Acquisition: Never make a bad trade.

"Next you must have an understanding of how much your time is worth. We Ferengi are taught from a very young age to keep this number in mind at all times. It will change as your needs and desires change. The price of a hungry one's time is much higher than the price of one who is satisfied; the price of one who is energetic and engaged in other work is higher than for the one who is lethargic and bored. Essentially, the price of your time is the amount you'd need to be payed to be happy putting everything aside, and instead having a boring conversation.

"It's an unfortunate complication that time-money curves are not linear, but for the haggling algorithm we can approximate them as such. Similarly, there are a host of complications that come with actually selling labor, but I'll skip those because they're not relevant to the haggling algorithm.

"Once you have these two self-numbers written down, you need to estimate my numbers. Visualize your potential trade partner accidentally giving you their entire wealth in exchange for the item. Unless their greed for your item is legendary, you should expect them to be unhappy about this accident. Slowly re-visualize the situation with them giving smaller fractions of their wealth away until you sense that they'd probably be happy, setting aside concerns about missed opportunities for better deals. It is the mirror-image of the first number. Do you see? This is the price you should use to anchor the transaction if you have that privilege. Again, remember Rule Four. You should have a feeling that if you set the opening price higher, the other party might leave to find a better deal.

"And, to complete the symmetry, you must finally estimate how much my time is worth. If we were being really strict you should also tell the algorithm how strong your knowledge of my time-price is, because it gets re-estimated based on my simulated actions within the-"

John raised a hand. "Please. I am already confused. Don't go into all the details."

"What are you confused about, hewmon?"

"I was thinking about how you keep saying 'worth' and 'price' for time, rather than 'value'. That can't be an accident, but I was trying to figure out what the value of time was."

Rom laughed verbally, body unmoving. "Rule Seven says we ought to think in money. It makes the whole thing easier. But, if you're curious, you can think about the difference in value between doing what you most want to be doing and doing something boring. If you convert that quantity of valunits into currency, you'll get the same number. It's just more complicated, though. Easier to learn to think in raw money."

"Okay, that's fair. So what are the last two numbers?"

"Ah yes! The last two are the market numbers. They have a symmetry to them as well. It is all very beautiful. The first number is the price you'd expect if you heard about a similar deal going on elsewhere in the marketplace."

"But we're not in a marketplace..."

"Of course we are! All places where people are free and interact are marketplaces! Look, if I refused to buy your information, you could go and sell it to Quark, right?"

"Yes, I suppose."

"And I could try and buy similar information from one of the other hewmons. Perhaps Quark is buying the same information from one of them right now...

"If you try and imagine that, what price comes to mind? This is the market price for the good. If we are both knowledgeable, our prices should be very close. Unfortunately, our species are meeting for the first time, and so my guess is we have different ideas about the market price of your information. But the algorithm will handle that.

"Now, once you have all five of those numbers written down, you must visualize the time it would take you to make a similar trade, if we were to fail to come to an agreement. Essentially, it is how much work you would need to do to replace me as a trade partner. If I am haggling in a stubborn way, and there are other buyers easily reachable, you can abandon me and trade with them, instead. This smooths the transaction.

"Do you understand the six numbers? Quark will call me a fool for spending so much time on helping you."

John took a deep breath. "I think you're describing something I can do, and to be honest, it's not too far from what I've been doing my whole life when buying things, though I've certainly never thought of laying out things so explicitly. I can already see how your culture is more advanced in this way."

"Good, good. I knew you ancient hewmons did trade. I was confused as to how it could be possible without such basic mental tools. In time you will learn to think like us. It will make you better at trading. Your value, as a species, will grow until you are a worthy section of the galactic market. I am excited to see what your species will become."

The word "ancient" stood out in John's mind, but he got the sense that it had been a slip of the tongue, rather than a deliberate sharing of information. He had to stay mindful of his broader goal here.

"So, I get the sense that sharing my numbers with you isn't to my benefit, but I want to share them anyway, just for the sake of learning."

Rom scratched the desk with his claws excitedly. "That's why we use datapads! It's optimal for us to share our numbers, but the first one to share is disadvantaged in the same way that the first to name a price is advantaged. The solution is to smooth the transaction by writing down our numbers in secret and then sharing them simultaneously."

Rom tore off a piece of paper and hid it behind a clawed hand, pushing the pad back to John. With the pencil he began to write.

John picked up his pen, and began to think about money.

And then the gunfire started.

 **5**

The sound of machineguns was temporarily silenced by the roar of a nearby explosion.

John and Rom were out of their chairs and at the door in seconds. He was relieved to find it unlocked.

Rom and Quark were being held in small rooms in the basement of the base headquarters, or at least that's where they had been taken. The sight that greeted John made him suspect the idea of holding these aliens prisoner was a fiction that the army had generated for themselves.

The wall of the room with Quark had been reduced to rubble, and there was clear damage to the internal walls and table. Quark was there, too, though he seemed unhurt.

"Keep shooting!" yelled General Denning, who John spotted off to his left. The various soldiers in the wide hallway obeyed.

Without the door to muffle the noise, the sound of their guns echoing through the space was deafening, but even through that John could hear the crackle of energy that erupted around Quark as the bullets hit him. Or rather, as they _didn't_ hit him. Orange-yellow starbursts flared, and sparks of blue danced around the alien, but Quark's body was untouched.

John had to shield his eyes as the barrage continued, but he still managed to see Quark's arm go out, as though the little creature was pointing. Except that Quark's hand _shifted_ and his arm _split_. A fierce beam of red light lanced out of the limb. Even aimed to the side, the radiant heat washed over John like a wave of flame. The beam continued, and Quark swept it across the hall, thankfully still pointed away from John. The soldiers screamed in reply. The inferno of energy, the crackling storm of loose energy, and the cacophony of gunfire was too much. He couldn't handle it. It was surreal.

John moved away from the doorway, fleeing to the corner of the room that was least likely to be struck by Quark's arm-weapon. The sounds of combat continued for a few more seconds before he could hear Denning screaming "Fall back! All survivors with me!"

The gunfire faded, and the energy noises went with it, but his ears were still ringing.

It felt like he was there for an eternity, paralyzed by some fundamental fear, a desire from the depths of the id. The sudden reality of working with creatures of such high technology had come crashing down on him. It had almost seemed like a game, before. But really, he'd been at their mercy. They'd been toying with him. Only their good-will had kept him alive, and apparently Quark's had run out.

"Brother! What did you do that for?!" cried Rom, as he moved into the hallway.

"These disgusting hewmons have been violating our freedom. It was only a matter of time before it was within my rights to strike back! It was justice!"

There was another explosion, further away this time. John began to crawl back towards the door. He needed... he so desperately needed to keep his wits about him.

"Father! Uncle!" said another voice, younger, boyish, though no less human-sounding. It must have been Nog, the third and final alien. "What's going on?"

John forced himself to crawl, and peek out into the central room where the Martians were regrouping. There were dead soldiers scattered here and there. Their bodies had been blistered and boiled by Quark's energy-weapon, sometimes with flesh burned away down to blackened bone. It still seemed impossible that Quark had shot the ray from his _arm_. What other secrets did his body possess? Could he fly? Did he have superhuman strength?

"Your precious hewmons tried to tie me up! They wanted to torture me to steal information! They escalated the fight, so I ended it. It was justice!"

"We agreed to comply!"

John could see Quark raise his hands and do a little hop. "It was justice! It ceased to be profitable. These hewmons are too barbaric to want to trade. All they understand is brute force."

"I was making progress trading with my hewmon..." said Rom, also beginning to move, almost in a dance.

"Probably because he could hear your bad business sense a mile away," rebuked Quark. "This market is too small, anyway. No futures prices! No mass-trade systems! We need to force this backwater into the present era."

The smaller alien joined into the jerking, orderly movement. "It's not the present anymore! Look, uncle, just because we're in violation of the accord doesn't mean things can't get worse for us if we don't respect the natural progression of their culture. The Vulcans will-"

Quark's dance became more violent. "The Vulcans can"—screech—"my lobes!"

The world seemed to fall away as John forced himself to move.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done. It seemed impossibly brave, as though someone else was puppeting his body. His superego.

Emotions beat down on him, preventing him from speaking, but his superego still had the power to propel him to his feet and into danger.

Quark's arm snapped up at him him and unfolded. John could see machinery inside the sleeve, glowing with heat. He stood there, in shock, like a deer in the headlights of a car.

"I was wondering why we were still speaking hewmon language..." he said, waddling slowly towards him, gun-arm still raised. Those big, dark eyes stared at him from under Quark's heavy brow.

John knew what he had to say, but he didn't say it. Instead all he could manage was a weak "I don't understand."

Rom answered. "The translators pick the language which will maximize understanding among all listeners. They knew that you were still-"

"Shut up, you idiot!" snapped Quark, big, predatory eyes never moving from John.

Rom complied.

John finally spat out what he needed to say. "I can help you find p-people to trade with. People who won't try and t-torture you or hold you hostage. People with power."

The littlest one, Nog, spoke up. He looked like an even smaller version of Rom or Quark, only three feet tall, but extrapolating from what he'd seen from Quark, he guessed Nog was no less deadly. "We're not allowed to interfere! It would be theft! If the Alliance finds we violated the Warpdrive Accord-"

Quark actually broke focus from John as he turned around. His arm folded back into the way it had been when he'd shaken hands earlier that day. "What do we have to lose? A stupid tavern on a backwater station? Be more greedy, nephew! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! If we can keep hidden for another few decades, by the time the Vulcans find us, the hewmons will have full rights of their own and we'll be in the clear."

"It's wrong, uncle!"

Quark jumped back towards his own kind and swung his arms in some kind of alien gesture, perhaps of frustration. "Rom, do you see what you've done? Your only child has been corrupted by living around other races. He does not understand justice. Rule Number One, Nog, your values aren't my values. There is profit to be made, and I am greedy."

"I'm greedy too, uncle," protested Nog, "but I also won't let you destroy these people. You are the injustice here."

Quark laughed aloud as he held both arms out wide and waved his hands in circles. They were all dancing again. "I'm not going to destroy them!" he shouted, ironically dancing right next to a still-smoking corpse. "Trade lifts and sustains. It builds and provides. I'm not going to be doing anything other than accelerating the timeline."

They'd seemed to have forgotten about John, and as much as he'd been driven to say what he had, his superego had seemed to lose its power with those words. All he could do was stand and watch the alien dance-circle.

Nog continued to speak back to Quark. "You're wrong! You never did understand hewmons! They don't think like we do. Their brains are different. Most of their transactions use social capital as currency, and rely on reputation-"

"I know this! I know all of this!" protested Quark. "I talk to aliens, including hewmons, every day! I know of friendship and partnership and gifts and all the other disgusting alien practices! They force each other to do things and call it civilization! They punish each-other for not contributing to the collective! You speak of injustice, but hewmons are the real monsters here! Did you hear they have governments with taxes!?"

"And it works for them! This is the idea behind the Prime Directive! By crashing here we're disrupting their chosen society. Jake Sisko says that if hewmons use money too much it tears down their ability to be happy. It makes them feel vulnerable and alone."

Quark (at least John thought it was Quark—it was hard to keep him and Rom distinct as they danced around) leaped so high that he kicked off the ceiling as part of his agitated dancing.

It occurred to John that if Nog and Rom had the same powers as Quark, and they were fighting, that things could become very dangerous here, very quickly.

"They are weak-minded! Trade is not injustice! That which can be destroyed by free trade, should be!" exclaimed Quark.

"I know what to do. I have a solution."

It took John a moment to realize that he had been the source of the words. Apparently his courage had returned.

All three aliens stopped their dance, turned towards him, and stared. Six dark eyes. Three mouths full of rows of sharp teeth. Silence. Somehow their predatory nature was more fearsome than the idea that their arms were secret ray guns.

He kept talking before he lost his nerve. "Quark, you want to trade with powerful people. And Nog, you want to avoid changing civilization. I understand humans. There's a way you can both get what you want. A way for us all to get what we want."

They were walking towards him—the pack of carnivorous aliens. Had they eaten since being "captured"?

"Well, what is it?" asked the one he was pretty sure was Rom.

They wouldn't trust him unless... He swallowed slowly, and steeled himself. "I will sell the information and my assistance for two bars of gold-pressed latinum and a weapon from the future!"

The aliens stopped their advance. Rom and Quark looked at each other. Nog looked at the adults. Quark looked back at him. "One bar, no gun, and you tell us how you know we're from the future."

"Deal," he said, holding out a hand expectantly.

Quark withdrew the golden bar from his clothing and handed it up to John. It weighed as much as a bowling ball, and John suspected the little alien had more metal on him. If Quark's superhuman strength had been in doubt, this confirmed it.

For a moment he lost himself in the thought that his net worth had, depending on how much "latinum" was actually worth, probably doubled or tripled. Thought that'd hardly matter if he was melted using a ray gun or thrown in prison for treason.

"Rom hinted that I was an 'ancient' human, and I knew you had experience with others of my kind. I guessed that somehow you went back in time, like the Connecticut Yankee."

"Like the what?" asked Quark.

"Never mind. The point is, I guessed. You confirmed it."

"Very well. Now for the primary information. Tell me how Nog and I can both get what we want. As confident as I am that I am on the side of justice, it will help me to keep him in my local market."

John took a deep breath. With the gold in his hands he was starting to feel more confident. More like his normal self. "You need to demand to talk directly with the president of the United States. If you offer him some of the technology that you demonstrated today, in exchange for being kept top-secret he'll accept. He doesn't want you running wild any more than Nog does, and he has the power to put you in contact with other world powers. If you can get access to an aircraft and perhaps an island or some other base of operations you should be able to pass yourselves off, with the president's help, as genius engineers. You can slowly sell your technology to the highest bidder without revealing yourselves to be aliens. Let me, and other humans who know you exist, do your trading for you using your algorithms, and you'll own half the planet before you know it, all without revealing yourself and risking the culture shock."

"It would make being detected by the Vulcans less likely..." said Rom.

Nog was scratching his claws together. John hoped that meant he liked the idea.

"A whole island for myself..." said Quark. "Filled with servants..."

"Oh! And think of the profit from reverse engineering the basics, like biomatricies or even just computers!" said Rom.

Nog joined in. "It'd accelerate things, but if we stay secret, like you said... most hewmons would simply be impressed by the rate of technological change. Hewmon culture would stand intact..."

"Come on. I have a feeling that General Denning is planning a way to kill us. We need to talk to him and get the president on the phone before it's too late," said John, breaking the aliens out of their collective fantasies.

Together, the four of them, three Martians and one human, walked out of the ruined hallway, up the stairs, and into a new future.

 **6**

A film of nearly-invisible matter drifted silently over the floor and walls. He moved after them, still pulling himself together since the accident that had brought them back in time. In a direct conflict, the distributed swarm of organic supercomputers that called himself "Odo" would be no match for the Ferengi augments. Not yet, anyway.

But every cell of Odo's flexible body demanded the enforcement of strict adherence to legal code. He was a lawman, through and through.

Quark and the others were violating eighteen galactic and local laws.

And he was growing.

* * *

 **Appendix 1: Some of the Rules**

One: Your values are yours alone.  
Two: All trade is built on Greed, Wealth, and Freedom.  
Three: Never accept a bad transaction.  
Four: Push every transaction to be as profitable for you as possible.  
Five: Trade according to specialty. (Yours and your partner's.)  
Six: To maximize profit, always seek the biggest market.  
Seven: Always trade with money. (Use money to think about all transactions.)  
Eight: Weigh opportunity costs for every action.  
Nine: Never lose track of the price of your time.  
Ten: Happiness tomorrow is just as valuable as happiness today.  
Eleven: Wealth today can be used to make a wealthier tomorrow.  
Twelve: There's no value in money unspent. (Save only as much as you have to.)  
Thirteen: A possession in a pinch is worth all the treasures in the world.  
Fourteen: Profit flows from keeping a lobe on market prices.  
Fifteen: Good deals come from others knowing of your greed.  
Sixteen: If your location is bad for business, move.  
Seventeen: If the people around you are hurting business, find new people.  
Eighteen: If your specialty is common, move or re-specialize.  
Nineteen: Objects come and go, but improvements to yourself are perennial.  
Twenty: Listen to the needs of the market.

Forty: Keep the finite lifespan of all things in mind. (Nothing lasts forever.)  
Forty One: In retrospect, endings are disproportionately salient.  
Forty Two: Don't negotiate when in a particularly good mood.  
Forty Three: Don't negotiate when in a particularly bad mood.  
Forty Four: Attend to the first price offered in a transaction; it is an anchor.  
Forty Five: If you look only at the successful, you'll confuse luck for wisdom.  
Forty Six: A fool lets stories distract from facts.

Fifty Nine: Never give away what you could just as easily sell.  
Sixty: Sources of loans are almost as good as treasures.  
Sixty One: If the price of value is particularly low, consider going into debt.  
Sixty Two: If a really good opportunity for investment presents itself, consider going into debt.  
Sixty Three: If you think you are outsmarting the market, check to make sure you have a secret. (And make sure you _actually_ have a secret.)  
Sixty Four: The only problem with spending your last slip of latinum is the risk that an even better deal will come along.  
Sixty Five: Value flows from buying food when you're starving.

Ninety Eight: Always check the goods.  
Ninety Nine: Reputation is like water.  
One Hundred: That which can be destroyed by free trade should be.

Two Hundred Eighty Four: A healthy market is good for everyone.  
Two Hundred Eighty Five: A market with flaws will never improve unless there are people who are willing to exploit it.

* * *

 **Appendix 2: The Algorithm**

Author's note: This is my first attempt at creating a fair method of quickly determining the sale price of an item between two people. It's only one such system, and there are others (like auctions) that are better for different circumstances. I think that it's important to have these sorts of systems in one's toolkit, so to speak, for reasoning about prices in day-to-day living. Even if you don't use a rigorous system, paying attention to things like how much your time is worth and the market price of an equivalent good seems like a good way to orient.

That said, I have not used this algorithm. I whipped it up for this story, and there are almost certainly flaws and ways it could be improved. If you can improve upon it, or have any stories about using it, I'd love to hear them. If you can think of a way to improve how I describe the alogrithm, or implement it in code, please let me know. You can reach me at max(a)raelifin(dawt)com.

There are two parties: a buyer and a seller. If the transaction occurs, the seller will give some good to the buyer, and the buyer will give some quantity of money to the seller in exchange.

Both parties privately write down six numbers:

Buyer:

The highest price you'd be willing to pay for the good. (HIGH)  
The price of your time. (BUYER_TIME_PRICE)  
Your expectation of the lowest price the seller would accept. (EXP_LOW)  
Your expectation of the price of the seller's time. (EXP_SELLER_TIME_PRICE)  
Your expectation of the average market price for the good. (BUYER_EXP_MARKET)  
Your expectation of the time it'd take to buy an equivalent good elsewhere on the market. (BUY_TIME_FUNGIBILITY)

Seller:

The lowest price you'd be willing to accept for the good. (LOW)  
The price of your time. (SELLER_TIME_PRICE)  
Your expectation of the highest price the buyer would pay. (EXP_HIGH)  
Your expectation of the price of the buyer's time. (EXP_BUYER_TIME_PRICE)  
Your expectation of the average market price for the good. (SELLER_EXP_MARKET)  
Your expectation of the time it'd take to sell the good elsewhere on the market. (SELL_TIME_FUNGIBILITY)

Once these numbers are written, the algorithm runs without input, acting as a proxy for the buyer and seller. From here out, when the words "buyer" and "seller" are used, they refer to the algorithm's representation of those parties.

Compute a Null-Transaction utility for both parties. This represents the possible profit of not making a deal.

BUYER_NULL_UTIL = maximum(0, HIGH - BUYER_EXP_MARKET – BUYER_TIME_PRICE×BUY_TIME_FUNGIBILITY)  
SELLER_NULL_UTIL = maximum(LOW, SELLER_EXP_MARKET – LOW - SELLER_TIME_PRICE×SELL_TIME_FUNGIBILITY)

The buyer and seller simultaneously offer a starting bid for the price of the good. These bids are simply the expected lowest price and expected highest price.

SELLER_BID(0) = EXP_HIGH  
BUYER_BID(0) = EXP_LOW

If the buyer's starting offer is greater than or equal to the seller's starting offer, then the price is simply the midpoint between the two prices.

Example:  
Buyer: "60 strips!" | Seller: "20 strips!"  
Outcome price: 40 strips.

Compute an Accept-Immediately utility for both parties. This represents the possible profit of accepting the other party's offer without haggling.

BUYER_ACC_IMM_UTIL = HIGH – SELLER_BID  
SELLER_ACC_IMM_UTIL = BUYER_BID – LOW

The buyer and seller then simultaneously offer a followup to the starting bid. For each party, if the cost of their time is greater than the gap between the opening prices, and the immediate-acceptance utility is greater than the null-transaction utility, then that party will say "I accept your price!".

If only one party accepts the other's price, the outcome price is equal to the previous price offered.

Example:  
Buyer: "20 strips!" | Seller: "60 strips!"  
Buyer: "30 strips!" | Seller: "I accept your price!"  
Outcome price: 20 strips.

If both parties accept the other's price, the outcome price is the average of the last prices offered.

Example:  
Buyer: "20 strips!" | Seller: "60 strips!"  
Buyer: "I accept your price!" | Seller: "I accept your price!"  
Outcome price: 40 strips.

If the buyer and seller don't immediately accept, they propose a price equal to the last price they proposed, either increased or decreased by an amount equal to a constant time (the amount of time it takes to do one round of haggling) times the expectation of the price of the other party's time.

BUYER_BID(t) = BUYER_BID(t-1) + EXP_SELLER_TIME_PRICE×TIME_CONSTANT  
SELLER_BID(t) = SELLER_BID(t-1) – EXP_BUYER_TIME_PRICE×TIME_CONSTANT

The choice of time constant is not particularly important. A minute is a fine default.

(By choosing to step exactly as much as the worth of the other person's time, you are yielding as little ground as possible without expecting the other party to reject the transaction.)

Assuming neither party has flat-out accepted the other's price, after the second round, both parties should have an understanding of how quickly the other party is moving their bid.

For both parties, if their trading partner has underestimated the value of their time, the correct move on the third round is either to accept or reject the transaction. This is because additional time haggling won't be worth the time it costs to do so (the trade partner will yield less money than the time was worth).

Thus, on the third round, if your partner has underestimated the value of your time, you should accept their price if your accept-immediately utility (computed on the latest bid) is greater than your null-transaction utility, and say "I reject this transaction!" otherwise.

If both parties reject the transaction, no trading takes place, and the algorithm ends.

If one party rejects the transaction, the other party has one last opportunity to accept the last price given by the rejecter. They should accept if (and only if) the accept-immediately utility is greater than the null-transaction utility.

Example:  
Buyer: "20 strips!" | Seller: "60 strips!"  
Buyer: "25 strips!" | Seller: "59 strips!"  
Buyer: "I reject this transaction!" | Seller: "58 strips!"  
Seller: "I accept your price!"  
Outcome price: 25 strips.

If your partner has overestimated the value of your time, it is in your interest to haggle. This is because for each unit of time spent haggling, the price will come up or down at a faster rate than your time is worth. Each bid gets shifted by the expected value of the other party's time, as before.

If both parties want to haggle, the time spent haggling is calculated as follows:

t = (EXP_HIGH – EXP_LOW)/(EXP_BUYER_TIME_PRICE + EXP_SELLER_TIME_PRICE)

Then, you can find the convergent price with

PRICE = EXP_LOW + EXP_SELLER_TIME_PRICE×t

(Or alternately, use the seller bid equation.)

Example:  
Buyer: "20 strips!" | Seller: "62 strips!"  
Buyer: "25 strips!" | Seller: "60 strips!"  
Buyer: "30 strips!" | Seller: "58 strips!"  
Outcome price: 50 strips.  
Time to agreement: 4×TIME_CONSTANT

It is possible that it might be important for both parties to be forced to actually waste time equal to the time required to reach convergence according to the algorithm to prevent putting in false values. If true values are entered then it would still be worth the time, but it's clearly in both party's interests to be done faster. I'm not sure, and need to explore this area of the algorithm more.


End file.
